Untitled
by Gwen Potter
Summary: Hermione is plagued by haunting memories, and is faced with a tragedy of the past.


Okay, something new from me! Finally, I know... I'd like to warn you all in advance that this is rated R for a reason. There is an explicit description of a suicide, and I would not recommend this for readers who can't hang with that. And no, I have no title.

~*~*~   
  
_Hermione walked up the stairs of her home to her bedroom, shouting a reply to her best friend. "I swear, you get more immature by the day, Harry!"   
  
"I try!" the wizard in the kitchen replied, and from the sound of his voice, Hermione could tell he was grinning. She reached the oak door and pushed it open, beginning a new conversation with her husband, who appeared to be in the bathroom. He hadn't been in the rest of the house- she had checked- so he must have been preparing for bed. The bathroom door was open only a crack, a low light seeping out into the room and casting a sickly glow on the ground.   
  
"You know, Percy," she said, slipping off her high-heeled shoes and unclasping her royal blue robes, "it's too bad you didn't come tonight. We had a blast. And I brought you home my leftovers, because I couldn't even eat half of what they brought me; there was just so much!" When she received no reply, Hermione frowned. As she headed for the laundry hamper with her discarded clothing, she tried again. "Did you have a nice night?" But still, Percy didn't say anything.   
  
Hermione knew he was home; the back door had been unlocked, and all the fires in all the grates were still burning merrily. Percy never left home without making sure those things were taken care of.   
  
"Percy?" Hermione asked, taking a step towards the bathroom door, a strange feeling of dread and fear washing over her, for reasons she could not decipher. "Are you in there, Percy?" After only a moment, Hermione arrived at the door, and reached out her right hand to push it open. But as her fingers hit the heavy wood, she hesitated, and did not know why.   
  
Gathering her courage, Hermione moved onward and the door creaked open. Percy's clothes were folded neatly on the counter, including his socks, which were resting on the top of the stack, his wire-framed glasses beside them. The candles around the room were rather low, as if they'd been burning for hours, and some were fighting to stay lit. There were a few drops of precipitation on the mirror and window, as if they'd been steamed up and had cleared. Of course, Hermione didn't notice any of these things, as she was avidly staring at the bathtub.   
  
The water was a deep, harsh red, a color Hermione had never even considered before. A sharp, silver razor was sitting on the edge of the white tiled tub, a splash of red across its smooth surface. And seated in the lukewarm water was Percy, naked, his skin a pale shade even fiercer in its chalky tint than he normally displayed. His knees were slightly bent, and one cut arm was resting across them. Hermione could see deep into the wound on his wrist, almost down to the bone. The other was down in the water, but she knew it would look just the same.   
  
Hermione felt the bile rising in her throat, but she couldn't move to the toilet. She couldn't move at all. All she could do was stare painfully at her husband's still form. When she finally got her brain to converse with the rest of her body, she took a slow step backwards, followed by another, and another. Her mouth opened, and she planned on whispering softly to him, but that wasn't what happened. Instead, her voice came out loud and shrill, a scream, but it didn't even register with her senses.   
  
Hermione continued moving away from the small room, her eyes never leaving Percy, not even to blink. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could hear feet stomping up the stairs, and another vague corner of her brain told her that it was Harry. But Hermione didn't care. She took several more steps, until her knees hit the edge of the bed. The door was flung open haphazardly, and, as suspected, Harry scrambled in, wand in hand.   
  
"Hermione, what's wrong?" he asked urgently, stopping in front of her. A soft, whimpering cry left Hermione's lips, but she could not reply. A very puzzled Harry followed her gaze, until his, too, came to rest on Percy. "Oh my God…" he breathed, raising a hand to cover his mouth, looking as if he would be sick at any moment.   
  
Suddenly, Hermione's knees gave out, and she sank down onto the bed. A mournful, grievous sob left her, and Hermione realized she was crying. But she made no move to remove the wetness from her face as she stared unwaveringly at her dead husband._   
  
******   
  
Sitting straight up in bed, Hermione gasped. Tears cascaded down her face, spilling onto her soft cotton nightshirt. Her cries produced from the dream diminished into quiet sobs, and Hermione felt herself shaking. She'd had the dream countless times over the past two years, the painful memories of Percy's suicide always haunting her. They'd been married for three years by the time he had done it. Percy must have been much more troubled than he'd ever let anyone know for him to have done such a rash and final thing.   
  
When she had looked back on it months later, Hermione realized that something had been amiss with his behavior since the day before he'd done it. He had come home from work with a dreadful expression on his face, and when he'd seen Hermione his eyes had filled with tears. When Hermione questioned him about it, Percy quickly shook his head and changed his demeanor, turning into a smiling, happy man.   
  
He'd been very loving and attentive all evening, even more so than he normally was, doing anything he possibly could for Hermione. He'd rubbed her feet and her shoulders, made a nice dinner for her, and kissed her at every opportunity. They'd reminisced about days past, talked of their lives, but when Hermione brought up the future, Percy got oddly silent and wouldn't elaborate too much on anything he said. And when they'd retired to their bedroom, Percy had laid her down on the bed and sweetly made love to her all night, even after his body had threatened to fail him several times.   
  
The next morning, Percy had been up before Hermione, and he'd softly kissed her awake. He presented her with a gorgeous bouquet of lilies, which he'd handpicked in their garden. Before they'd both left for work, he'd told her he loved her many times and rarely let her get more than an arm's length away from him.   
  
At five o' clock, she'd checked in at home, reminding Percy that they were supposed to go out with their friends that night. He'd declined, saying that he hadn't felt well, and Hermione had decided to let him be. Just as she prepared to Apparate, Percy had stopped her. He'd placed one hand on the small of her back and the other around her neck, holding her tightly to him.   
  
_"You know I love you more than anything, don't you, my Angel?"_ Percy had asked, using his special pet name for Hermione.   
  
_"Of course I do, Baby,"_ she'd replied, _"And I love you more than anything, as well."_   
  
_"That's good to know,"_ he'd replied sadly, tears in his eyes once again. And then he'd kissed her, softly at first, but growing in passion as it continued. For several moments, Hermione lost herself in his love and her own emotion, until Percy pulled back. He'd silently run his hands over her face, as if memorizing every last detail. And as suddenly as he'd approached her, he moved away, staring avidly at the wall. He had said goodbye quietly, and Hermione had then left, leaving behind her last few precious minutes with her soul mate.   
  
Hermione, still sobbing heavily, looked up as she heard the door creak open. A messy red head peeked in, and although it was dark and it was extremely similar to all the others in the house, especially one, she knew exactly who it was.   
  
"Herm?" George asked groggily. Hermione sniffled, but gave no other response. George, in turn, opened and closed the door, walking through the dark room. Hermione moved backwards a bit on the double bed, relinquishing her position at the center, and George lay down next to her, pulling up the covers. "Was it the dream again?"   
  
"Yes…" she moaned pathetically, her tears now soaking the pillowcase.   
  
George gently tucked behind her ear a strand of chestnut hair that had escaped her ponytail. "It's alright, Love," he whispered, leaning forward and whisking several light, chaste kisses across her lips. It wasn't a sexual gesture, or even a romantic one, as neither party had ever experienced feelings for one another. It was simply a comforting, loving gesture that a brother gave his sister. The two had done it many times, when George would comfort Hermione after a nightmare. She relived the experience with Percy's suicide at least twice a week, but that was definitely a great step up from the first few months after his death, when she had dreamed of nothing but that, night after night. Almost every morning, she would find herself wrapped in the arms of a Weasley (or Potter, or Malfoy).   
  
Her crying diminishing slightly, Hermione buried her face in George's shirt, feeling a bit of the pain lessen when he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. George had helped her greatly as she grieved for Percy. While the two had never been close in their Hogwarts days, when they had become adults- and both the twins had calmed down and lost some of their hyperactivity- they had become great friends.   
  
Sometimes, Hermione felt rather pathetic. She was a grown woman who needed someone to hold her night after night to 'protect' her from her bad dreams. But after Percy's death, she was very vulnerable, and she could scarcely stand to be alone. It was her fear of her nightmares that had driven her from her home and into the Burrow just weeks after she'd been widowed. Molly and Arthur had welcomed her with open arms, glad to have their daughter-in-law residing with them. Molly had always thrived when there was someone to take care of, and Hermione had been in desperate need of mothering for quite a while. She moved into Percy's old bedroom, something that it had been hard for her at first. So many wonderful memories of her beloved were stored there… But, with time, she had adjusted, and even enjoyed staying in the room.   
  
As George's breathing evened out, signaling that he was falling asleep, Hermione pressed closer to him and closed her eyes, drifting off herself and praying that she'd dream no more.   
  
~*~*~ 

  


A/N: Yes, see, I told you! Originally, I had an idea for a much longer story to go along with this, but I really don't think you should expect anything like that anytime soon. Sorry, but I'm just not as dedicated to my fanfics as I once was, and I still have so many fics I'm working on. I hope you enjoyed reading this, sad as it was, and I hope that you review and let me know what you think. Feedback is greatly appreciated!

  


Gwen


End file.
